The mind is a strange machine which can combine the materials offered to it in the most astonishing ways.

This illustrates an important truth, namely, that the worse your logic, the more interesting the consequences to which it gives rise.

In his youth, Wordsworth sympathized with the French Revolution, went to France, wrote good poetry and had a natural daughter. At this period, he was a bad man. Then he became good, abandoned his daughter, adopted correct principles and wrote bad poetry.

If one lived for ever the joys of life would inevitably in the end lose their savour. As it is, they remain perennially fresh.

No opinion has ever been too errant to become a creed.

Not to be absolutely certain is, I think, one of the essential things in rationality.

My own view on religion is . . . It helped in early days to fix the calendar, and . . . to chronicle eclipses . . . These two services I am prepared to acknowledge.